Mutant, and Proud
by A Being Of Violet Fire
Summary: What if the killing curse did more to Harry than just leave a lightning bolt-shaped scar? What if it did something on a more... cellular level? And in a world where Wizards aren't any more accepting of those who are freaks, who is left to save the Savior?
1. Freak: Betrayed and Abandoned

**Author's Note: My apologies for the long wait. I got about halfway through chapters of both The Pen is a Sword: Book One and Slytherin's Sacrifice, before my muse attacked me with a shovel and pitchfork. I was forbidden from continuing until I gave realization to this rather pressing plot bunny. So, please forgive me, and I hope that you find this story as intriguing as the rest of mine. Now that this is started, the other chapters will be up soon.**

**Also, this story will remain under Harry Potter until Xmen: First Class has a category created. Thank you for your understanding and patience. Hope you enjoy the story! Ta ta!**

* * *

><p>Harry whimpered as he curled up in the corner of the dark, gloomy, bloody basement. He'd been down here for since… well, he tried not to think about that; the beginning of the end. But, invariably, that was all he had left to think about, trapped down here. He was currently trying to recover from his 'Uncle's' attentions almost four days ago, only kept track by the light that peeked through the only window in the room. Unfortunately, not only was the window too small for even the malnourished and emaciated Harry to slip through, but it was too high up on the wall for him to even reach in the first place.<p>

Hey, at least Uncle Vernon had unhooked him from the chains before he'd left, yelling threats down the basement steps. Thank Merlin for small mercies.

So Harry spent his days watching the light wax and wane, attempting to ignore his stomach that- in absence of actual food- was trying to eat itself from the inside out, trying to staunch his wounds with his torn pants and shirt, and wishing someone- _anyone- _would come.

But he knew from experience, no one would.

Not his dead mother or father. Not his godfather and pseudo-godfather. Not his 'friends' Ron and Hermione. And most _certainly _not his Headmaster, teachers, or Head of House. He'd been well and truly abandoned.

Everyone, all the people that he'd thought loved him, cared for him, had abandoned him to this hell-hole after the events of the Last Task.

It wasn't anything to do with Voldemort, no, everyone believed him when he'd said that the snake-faced bastard had killed Cedric shortly before using his blood to resurrect himself. And they'd been suitably impressed when the Priori Incantatum had been invoked.

No, what had been the breaking point was when they'd found out that, instead of keeping his wand when the connection was broken, the core had burned out and the wand had shattered.

Which meant that, all the curses and hexes and _accios_ he'd used during his mad escape had been wandless and, most of the time, wordless. After telling this, he'd looked up into Dumbledore and Sirius' eyes, and had been struck silent by the horror and terror found there.

Apparently, this was unheard of. No one could- not even Merlin- cast wandless offensive magic. Yes, certain household charms certainly, and maybe the occasional trick used for awe and flair, but never to attack or defend. According to them, it meant that something was wrong inside of him, that he was missing a crucial element essential to all wizards: the link between Maya's Magic and his wand, his focus.

Meaning his whole body was, in their opinion, positively filled and _thrummed _with magic, and thus, he was a veritable time-bomb. Hence his frequent, powerful, controlled bouts of accidental magic.

_A Freak… _

Because, really, when had the wizarding world really been accepting of those that were _different?_

So, to _encourage_ him to essentially suppress his magic and 'get off his lazy, attention-seeking arse' and develop a link, they'd sent him to the Dursleys with express orders on what needed to be done, and free reign in their methods of doing so. They'd let him back to the wizarding world to fulfill his 'duty' (he only knew about the prophesy because he'd accidentally gone a little further into Dumbledick's pensieve than the Headmaster first thought – thank Merlin for his Slytherin acting skills) of defeating Voldemort when they'd felt he'd learned his lesson.

Yeah right, you bastards.

Not after the way Hermione released the information to Rita Skeeter, saying that it was her duty to inform the general public of the danger that he posed just by fucking _breathing_ – nevermind that they'd gone to school together for four years, and he'd never hurt them once. Not after Ron spat in his face and cursed him, saying that it was just like the self-righteous, stuck-up, pathetic boy-who-lived to try and pull something so ludicrous and dangerous just to get more attention.

When Poppy'd refused to scan him- though he'd all but _begged-_ because she wouldn't put her wand anywhere _near _that 'menace' and that she would tender her resignation if Dumbledore insisted.

Oh, if only she had scanned him; because then he most _certainly _wouldn't be here now (as Harry was soon to learn).

And Professor McGonagall… well, her reaction had actually been rather predictable. After experiencing first-hand her rather… questionable 'motivations' and 'punishments', he wasn't too surprised when she slapped him across the face swearing in rather colorful Scottish (that he hadn't understood a word of).

The way that Remus refused to look him in the eye, refused to speak to him, refused to _touch _him, as though he'd catch some infectious disease – _hypocritical son of a bitch! _– caused Harry's heart to clench painfully. And when Sirius had looked him, right in the eye, expression full of disgust and distaste, and stated that Lily and James would have been revolted and that a weak, abnormal godson was _not _what he'd escaped Azkaban for; and he'd better shape up, and fast. He'd even said that he didn't want to see Harry again until he'd 'fixed' himself and apologized for doing something so _freakish_.

After that, his face and heart closed off completely. He hadn't even hardly paid attention to the Headmaster's disappointed gaze and speech, about how he'd always expected more of him, and how he'd go home until he'd 'learned his lesson'.

As he was leaving the ground Hagrid ran up to them, huffing and puffing. He glowered at Harry fiercely, but, somehow, Harry could see the glimmer of untruth and deception in his black eyes. "I'm very upset Harry. I woulda thought youda known better'n that." Then he sighed sadly. "Well, I'm sure you'll straight'n yourself out. Until I see ya agin, well… Here's a hug for good luck."

And, while Hagrid enveloped him in his arms, a whispered, "Don't take it out 'til ya get there. Sev'rus helped me shrink it." And a small, rectangular packet was slipped into his back pocket.

After that, it'd all been a blur of numbness and soul-deep cold. He hadn't woken up until everyone'd gone, and his Uncle was throwing him down the basement steps, a lascivious grin on his face.

He'd spent a solid week down there starving, presumably so that his Uncle could sufficiently weaken him before the _real _torture started.

But Harry was far from idle during that time. He'd waited until that night before taking out the package Hagrid had managed to slip him. As soon as it exited his pocket, it enlarged due to the spell that Professor Snape had obviously placed upon it.

He was overjoyed to find that it was his trunk; with his invisibility cloak, his photo album, the Marauders Map, his Gringott's key, some paperwork, a bunch of healing, skelegro, and nutrition potions, and a couple letters. He silently forgave and blessed Professor Snape from the very bottom of his heart.

During the week he'd used his key and a spare rock to saw away at the floorboards under the stairs until he could pry one up. He'd safely stored his trunk under the floorboard and replaced it, moving the suitcases that were stuffed under there at the beginning, successfully keeping it from prying eyes.

That had been, as near as Harry could tell from the tallies that he'd painted on the wall in his blood, about three months ago. Since then he'd already used all the healing potions and salves; even though he'd been sparing and conservative.

But, the plus side of all this time without food or negative attention, was that he could look at his album and read the Gringott's paperwork in peace.

Did Harry ever mention how much he just _loves _Severus and Griphook?

The paperwork essentially stated that, since he was legally the Lord to the Potter, Gryffindor, Slytherin (apparently Godric and Salazar were a little closer than history remembered – Griphook told him that the pregnant Salazar, being the least liked out of the two, was run off after his and Godric's relationship was exposed – since the times weren't as accepting as they were now), and Merlin, as well as the scion of the House of Black (irresponsible and convict Sirius obviously hadn't gotten a chance to remove him from his will yet), that he was technically allowed to be Emancipated. All he had to do was sign the pretty gold line at the bottom of the contract with the special phoenix-feather quill, and _viola, _you get one untraceable, independent Harry Potter-not-going-to-bother-with-all-the-last-names.

And the best part, they were sealed by Gringotts and therefore no one would even _know _that he had filed for emancipation.

There were also bank statements, and he'd been livid to realize who all had been stealing from his Potter vault (they obviously didn't know about the rest). Not only Dumbledore and the Weasleys, but also Black, McGonagall, The Order of the Phoenix, and even a direct deposit account to Hogwarts and the Ministry. Harry had immediately signed a form stating that he wanted all possessions and properties and monies returned to his vault and all vaults sealed to all but himself and the Prince Heir (he figured Severus deserved a reward, and crazy as it sounded, he trusted Severus; and he needed an ally) as soon as he was able to make his escape.

Unfortunately, that was where the problem lay. Although his 'wandless magic' didn't _feel _like magic, at least the magic that he used to direct through his wand, apparently it still was able to be suppressed by Dumbledore. Turns out, Dumbledore made a lucky guess, as he used _ability _restraining metals in the doorknob, hinges, and latches in the room, as well as in the walls, rather than _magic _suppressing metals.

Every time he tried, the backlash had been terrible, and Harry couldn't stop himself from screaming in pain. Just his luck, his Uncle had just returned home and proceeded to 'teach him a lesson' about making noise, and the vicious cycle finally got to the point that Harry was barely clinging to life, and unable to use his 'magic'.

He pulled out his letters again, the only things keeping him sane these past months. Severus, Hagrid, Luna, Neville, and the twins had managed to write him, professing their support and love (except for Severus, obviously).

It was Professor Snape's that he read now, for it never failed to bring a small smile to his face:

_Insufferable Brat,_

_Yes, indeed, for it seems that you take great joy in making my promise to protect you particularly difficult to keep. As it is, I've known that the Headmaster has been using you for quite some time, and it wasn't until now that he'd revealed his true face to you. Now that you know, get as far away as you can. I've provided you the necessary documentation to free you, now it's up to you to disappear._

_I have no doubt that you can manage this, as I'm sure that that blasted Cloak has kept you from many a well-deserved detention (and now that I know that you have it, pray that we do not meet again, as I will be calling in all those stored up detentions. And, I assure you, with interest). _

_With this letter is a piece of spelled parchment, and you're only to use it once you're away and safe. Write a question upon it, and I shall immediately receive it on my similarly charmed parchment. I assure you, Mr. Potter, that I shall be much displeased it you use it lightly, or delay too long. I do not relish the thought of having to hunt you down to ensure that you haven't done something particularly Gryffindor-ish, and finally managed to brain yourself. (Although that would be assuming that, A, you even possess the _ability _to refrain from being an idiotic Gryffindor; and, B, you possess any brains in the first place)_

_As soon as you're gone, I would suggest finding your nearest magical community and finding any books that you can that might inform you on how to control this new 'power' of yours. Of course only _you _could manage something like this Potter, trust you to not do things by halves._

_I fear that my time is drawing short, and I can only hope that, for once, Hagrid can manage to act with _some _degree of believability. Take heart that you're not completely on your own, and for Salazar's sake Potter, at least _attempt _to stay out of trouble? If it's not too much to ask, insufferable brat._

_The Half-Blood Prince_

Unfortunately, the neighbors across the street were having some construction done, and so the beeping and the sound of moving machinery drowned out the arrival of his Uncle and the unlocking of the basement door.

But when Vernon slammed the door open, Harry jerked around and stared up in terror. He quickly stuffed his letters in a suitcase that had the zipper half-undone; and not a minute too soon.

Harry scurried away as quickly as he could from the image of his Uncle carrying a bull-whip, but there wasn't enough room.

Harry whimpered as Vernon grabbed him by the hair and shoved him at the wall. As Harry was trying to shake away the dizziness caused by his weak body coming into contact with the wall, his wrists were chained to the ceiling, and his legs to the floor.

But any lingering wooziness was immediately dispelled upon the first strike of the bull whip. Harry yelped then bit his tongue. He wouldn't give his bastard Uncle the satisfaction of hearing him scream. During the day, Vernon didn't want Harry to make a sound, to exist. But during his 'punishments', Vernon wanted to hear Harry cry and beg and plead.

By the twentieth strike, Harry began to lose consciousness, but the bucket of bleach-water thrown on his back woke him up immediately.

By the thirty-seventh, Harry was whimpering.

At the sixty-third, Harry began crying.

And at the sixty-ninth, Harry screamed. And, for the first time in a very, _very _long time, cried for help.

Help that, he was sure, wouldn't ever come.

* * *

><p>Xavier and Eric followed Hank into the odd, cylindrical station. Raven and the rather odd, dumpy fellow that's name slipped Eric's mind, were right on their heels.<p>

Immediately Hank began flipping switches and checking the calibrations, all the meanwhile giving some long-winded and technical explanation that Eric turned into background noise as he checked out the intriguing, rather fetching man named Charles Xavier.

He had the most gorgeous, turquoise-blue eyes that Eric had ever seen, set in a soft, kind, wise face. The dimple in his chin was particularly endearing, only matched by the ones in his cheeks when he smiled. And _God _what a perfect smile it was. Put that together with gorgeous, silky milk-chocolate colored hair and a body to that was practically _sinful_, and it was all Eric Lensherr could do to now stare at that perfect ass twenty-four seven.

Thankfully, he'd managed to erect a steel barrier around his most private thoughts, so there was no risk of Charles discovering his rather forbidden attraction. It was the main reason that he'd decided to stay. Friends, Charles had said. Well, Eric was secretly hoping for just a bit more.

He was brought back when Charles put the blue-glowing cap on his head. All the wires connected to it made him involuntarily shiver.

He snorted when Hank asked to shave his head, and was kept from forbidding it by Charles rebuffing that suggestion rather quickly.

"You make a lovely lab rat Charles." Eric smirked, moving in front of his new 'friend'.

"Don't ruin this for me Eric." Charles scowled, and Eric grinned outright.

"I know what a lab rat looks like; I've been one." But any response was cut off by the whirring and humming as the machine was activated. Eric watched in worry as the blue light moved along the wires, until Charles shouted in shock as the cap flared, and it was all he could do not to rip Charles away from the machine when he gripped the handrail for support.

They all grinned and cheered, though, as the machine started beeping and typing, printing the coordinates of all the mutants around the world, along with ability. Eric moved closer, but still within arms-reach of Charles, and stared at the paper in shock. He hadn't realized that… there were so _many_.

Until, suddenly, Charles _screamed _and the machines went wild.

Charles ripped the cap off of his head and collapsed, but Eric was there to catch him before his forehead made contact with the handrail.

"Charles! Charles, what is it?" It was only the fact that Charles was in his arms that prevented him from crushing Hank in his own bloody machine. He just _knew _it, testing, lab rats, _pain…_

"Eric," Charles rasped, and he jerked out of his past. "It was… we have to… we have to go now…"

"What is this Professor?" Hank asked, holding up the sheet of mutant coordinates. The last fifty were the exact same coordinates and country, but the 'power' column was filled with little infinity signs.

"It's him." Charles coughed out. "A boy… young, powerful…" And he turned pained eyes to his friend. "And… and like you, Eric."

The fury in Eric's faced showed, that he didn't need any further explanation than that. And, for the first time, Charles allowed himself to wonder… if, perhaps, Eric was right.

Seems like they were on their way to England. Number Four Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey; to be more exact.


	2. Freak: Bound and Freed

Harry was crumpled in the corner, face-down in a pool of his own blood and tears. In his hazy mind, Harry wondered exactly how he was still alive after the ninety-nine lashes his Uncle gave him the night (or was it day?) before.

His entire back felt like one big slab of tenderized meat; his broken ribs scraped and rubbed against each other with every labored breath; and he was sure that his right leg was broken in no less than three places. Needless to say, Harry knew he wouldn't be moving any time soon. Maybe never again. As much as Harry wanted to hold out- for those few who believed in him, for Severus, for his much desired revenge- he knew that it was time to be realistic; he was going to die here, in this bloody and dark basement.

Harry watched listlessly as a small ray of light appeared as the sun rose, peeking valiantly through the small window. Finally, he heard the echoing of Uncle Vernon's alarm, and the stomping and grumbling that signified that Uncle Vernon was awake.

He listened to the footsteps make their way to the bathroom, then spent the next fifteen minutes lulling to sleep at the steady patter of the shower water. The entire house seemed to have cardboard walls… if you were inside of it. Harry had learned around second year that there was strong silencing wards around the perimeter of the house, along with a very specific obliviation charm. Basically, you couldn't hear when Harry was tortured, but if you wandered close enough to, then the knowledge would be wiped from your mind as soon as you stepped outside of the wards.

Three guesses who put _those _up, and the first two don't count.

But all too soon, the water was turned off, and it was only another fifteen minutes later that the rumbling, earthquake-like footsteps made their way down the stairs.

Harry listened very closely, knowing that the first place his uncle always went in the morning was the kitchen – and that he had to pass the basement door on the way.

Harry was momentarily confused when the footsteps stopped, just went silent. He strained for any noise, but heard nothing. Harry didn't know what was going on. Normally, Uncle Vernon would wander into the kitchen, complain about the Freak not doing anything (mainly cooking his meals, nevermind that he was chained and locked up in the basement), then demand for Aunt Petunia to cook him breakfast. After, he'd beat the Freak purely on principle, then get dressed, kiss Aunt Petunia, coo over Dudley, then head off to work; leaving Harry, once again, bleeding and without food.

But not so today.

Suddenly, so suddenly that Harry flinched and whimpered at the pain that that small motion caused, the basement door was slammed open.

There stood Uncle Vernon, grinning and chuckling maliciously, and holding a coil of – Harry's heart stopped cold – barbed wire. This was such a massive change from the normal way of things that Harry was thrown off balance… and terrified. He knew this couldn't mean anything good for him.

And Merlin, was he right.

Vernon walked down the stairs and over to Harry before just standing over him, staring. But something about the stare unnerved Harry; it had a nauseating glint to it as it roved over Harry's bloody, naked, exposed form.

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon crouched down to Harry's level; the move so unexpected that Harry flinched again. Vernon reached out with his free hand and stroked Harry's bruised cheek. Harry was in too much pain and too petrified to move away.

"Guess what, Freak?" Harry didn't answer, since he knew that he would be punished if he did. "It's your birthday. You're officially sixteen." Harry knew this was wrong, that he was only fifteen, but correcting Uncle Vernon was only something you did if you had a suicide wish. "And do you know what that means?" Harry tried to pull back from Uncle Vernon's fat, pudgy face and horrid morning breath; but the hand tightening in his hair prevented that. "Well boy?" Harry quickly shook his head.

Suddenly, a wide, lascivious, perverted grin spread across Uncle Vernon's face. "That means, Freak, that your arse is finally mine."

Harry froze, his eyes wide in fear and terror as his uncle's meaning sunk into his anguish-addled mind. He felt bile rise in his throat, and whined and tried to pull away. Uncle Vernon merely laughed in glee before slamming Harry's head into the cement floor.

Black flooded his vision as Harry briefly lost consciousness as his nose broke – again. When he came to, it was to the sight of his Uncle standing over him, still grinning. Memories returning in a flash, Harry attempted to jerk away, only to stop with a shriek of pain.

His whole body felt like it was on fire. Looking down, Harry discovered why.

His uncle had, while Harry was unconscious, bound his ankles, knees, and wrists together with barbed wire; the claws of metal breaking through the skin and making him bleed sluggishly. Looking down moved his throat, which lead to him discovering that the barbed wire also wrapped around his larynx, choking him and making him whimper pitifully.

Vernon chuckled. "Just to make sure that you don't try and run away, Freak, before I get back this evening. Unfortunately, I have a meeting with the board today, and I won't be back until later. And when I do…" He licked his lips as his eyes took in Harry's body, and he'd never felt so dirty. "Well, let's just say it's about time that I got something out of your worthless hide for taking you in all these years."

Then Uncle Vernon leaned over, brandishing the last of the barbed wire, and began to wrap it around Harry's eyes. Harry quickly closed his eyelids, screams coming out more like gurgles as he coughed up blood as he was blinded. He could feel the metal barbs tearing into his eyelids, his temples, the back of his head; but thankfully he didn't feel them tearing through and actually blinding his eyes.

Even so, the pain and terror and lack of oxygen was enough that, after throwing up blood and bile, Harry passed out again; the sound of his Uncle's laughter echoing in his ears.

He prayed he never awoke.

* * *

><p>The plane finally touched down in England, cloaking keeping them from being spotted.<p>

Not that there was anyone to spot them, as it was half an hour from midnight, and there was nobody _to _spot them.

One by one Hank, Charles, Eric, and Raven stepped out of the jet. Three looked around, taking in the wide expanse of cleared land, scattered with pits and construction equipment. As one, they all turned to stare at Charles in confusion.

"Are you sure those are the right coordinates, Hank?" Raven asked, comparing the paper with the hand-held GPS in Hank's hand. The numbers matched up perfectly. "It says here _Number Four, Privet Drive_, yet there's nothing here. And no mutant."

"I don't understand." Hank mumbled, inspecting the GPS and looking around, before doing it again. "It should be right here. All the calculations and calibrations were correct, they should be here."

Raven looked around and spotted a sign facing the other direction. She jogged over, intending to read what it said. All three turned at her gasp. She looked up in shock and confusion. "Look," She whispered. And she pivoted the sign around, so that they could read it as well. "We are in the right place."

The sign read: _BUY REAL ESTATE NOW! SOON TO COME: PRIVET DRIVE. YOUR NORMAL, QUAINT SUBURBIA._

Eric blinked in shock, but didn't say anything, only staring at his friend as Charles placed two fingers to his temples as he concentrated. Abruptly, Charles broke the silence.

"We are in the right place. I can feel him. He's faint… it's like, he's here, but not here. At least, not yet."

"What do you mean, Charles?" Raven asked her lifelong friend.

"Exactly what I said Raven. I just can't explain it any better." Xavier rubbed his head, as though he had a headache. Eric could see the frustration and desperation that Charles was doing his best to hide.

"So… now what do we do? They're not here, and we have others that we need to retrieve as well…" Hank questioned, allowing his voice to taper off under Eric's piercing stare.

"We wait." Eric answered, and no one there mistook the obvious order.

Raven merely shrugged before walking back to the Blackbird, Hank following her like a stuttering, lost puppy. Charles threw him a thankful smile, and Eric nodded, understanding.

Neither wanted to leave, not when there was a chance that history could be repeating itself.

Charles walked over to an untouched plot of land, before stopping. He looking around, seeing nothing, before sighing and sitting down on the untouched earth. Eric meandered over and sat beside him, stretching out his legs and leaning back on his arms. Charles, in comparison, was curled up around his drawn up knees, looking so vulnerable, confused, and adorable and Eric had a hard time not kissing him right there.

Instead, he turned his attention to the starry night sky. "How long?" He asked, slightly startling Charles.

Charles looked at him, searching and seeming to find what he was looking for, before also looking up into the night. "Not long." He answered. "Not long at all."

At that moment, there was a shooting star, a flash of light, and Charles letting forth the loudest, longest, and most vulgar list of expletives Eric had ever heard – much less from those seemingly innocent lips.

But, as soon as the stars cleared from his vision, his heart stopped, his blood froze, and his mind blanked. One word summed up the entire situation in Eric's head:

'_Scheiße…'_

* * *

><p>Not knowing how long he'd been unconscious, or when exactly his uncle'd be back, and having no clue what time it was; made the darkness behind his eyelids that much more horrible. Every honk was his uncle pulling in the driveway, every creak was the front door opening, and when it started raining outside, every raindrop was his uncle's footsteps coming down the stairs.<p>

By the time his uncle finally _did _return, Harry was a blubbering, sobbing, trembling mass of shot nerves and terror. Only his uncle's malicious, gleeful laughter informed Harry that his uncle was well and truly home.

"Happy birthday, Freak." Harry didn't even get time to flinch away from the voice right next to his ear before he was yanked around and his face shoved into his uncle's naked crotch. His dick slid through the blood on his face and slightly into Harry's gasping, sobbing mouth. With a pleasured cry, Vernon shoved his cock into Harry's mouth in one forceful thrust.

Vernon forced two of his fingers in Harry's mouth as well to keep the choking, gagging boy from biting down as he began violently fucking Harry's face.

Just before Vernon balls drew up, and Harry passed out, he yanked his cock from Harry's mouth.

"Not yet, whore." Uncle Vernon growled, his voice strained from his near-orgasm. "Oh no. When I come, it's going to be inside your tight little arse." And he shoved Harry to the ground.

"…No… 'Leas… 'Leas 'ncle… no…" Harry sobbed out, choking, knowing it wouldn't make a difference no matter how much he begged.

And he was right, for Uncle Vernon just chortled and shoved his face to the ground, maneuvering Harry's arse into the air and holding it there; his fat, sausage fingers already bruising.

Harry _tried _to shuffle or move away, really he did, but there was nothing he could do with his arms bound behind his back with barbed wire and his legs in a similar position.

'_He's going to have to take off the barbed wire on my legs to do… _that._ And when he does, I'll kick him, fight, escape, and runrunrun…'_ Harry thought feverishly. But it was not to be.

Vernon just pulled Harry's cheeks apart, exposing his hole that flinched and quivered in fear, before spitting on it. "It'll be so much tighter this way." He chucked, swiping his thumb through the saliva and plunging it into Harry's arse.

Harry gave a gurgle-scream and tried to pull away, all to no avail. For he had no where to go.

'_Please,' _Harry screamed in his mind. _'Let me go, leave me alone, don't wanna be here _anywhere _but here please lemme go lemme go LEMME GO!'_

And as Vernon forced himself into Harry in one rough thrust- tearing and ripping and making him bleed- Harry screamed. But rather than the rough, broken sound of before, of a throat brutalized and torn; a long, haunting, lone note of phoenix song echoed around the basement; a manifestation of Harry's pain and anguish and _desperate pleas._

Then a shooting star, a flash of magic, and a trill of song; and Vernon was swearing and screaming.

For the bloodied stump of where his cock used to be, as well as the boy that it was inside of, was gone.

Harry Potter, was no more.


	3. Freak: Fear and Escape

Eric sprung into action, immediately leaning over the sobbing and choking child and using his powers to manipulate the barbed wrapped around the boy's eyes and throat. Those were the most crucial areas, as they couldn't risk moving the child without blinding him or severing his larynx. If he attempted to remove the ones on the boy's wrist, ankles, and knees as well; they ran risk of him bleeding to death before they could staunch the blood.

All this Eric analyzed in seconds, mind slipping back into the 'survival' mindset that had kept him alive all this time. It was indeed fortunate, in this case, that Eric was used to such a way of living; for Charles, after his initial loud exclamations, had froze up in horror at the sight before him.

Sobbing, trembling boy, black hair matted with blood and filth, lightly tanned skin marred with scars and bruises. Trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, bleeding and from seemingly nowhere; an odd trunk with brass clasps not three yards away.

A loud and horrified curse, closely followed by a pained and terrified cry, snapped Charles from his stupor. He snapped his gaze from the trunk back towards the gruesome scene before him – only to see something that would forever be burned into his mind, to haunt his nightmares for years to come.

An image that would change his ideals on homo sapiens… and subsequently change the future.

It was the sight of a sickly-pale, but determined Eric calming and holding down the wriggling child as he eased- Charles threw up a bit in his mouth- a bloody dick from the child's anus.

As soon as it was free the child collapsed back into the dirt, shuddering deep gasping sobs and mumbling a hoarse litany of, "_'Lease 'ncle… 'lease, 'l be good… sto-stop 'ncle, 'lease…"_

Teary blue eyes met burning, furious grey as Charles choked out, "H-how? Wh-why…?"

Eric's voice was cold, biting, clipped. "I would venture to guess that, wherever or whenever this child came from, was in the process of being raped when he transported himself here, thus cutting off the bastard's dick that was shoved inside of him." Charles winced at the condemning, un-minced words. "As for why; well, they don't necessarily need a reason; any old one will do. Abnormal, more powerful, less powerful, different-"

"_Fweak be good 'ncle V'non… 'lease, fweak be good…"_ The child's trembling voice broke into Eric's speech, and he quickly leaned down and gently picked up the emaciated boy in his arms; ignoring the startled and pained cry.

"Or freak." Eric whispered, walking forwards until he and Charles were mere inches apart, where Charles had no choice but to see the truth in Eric's eyes. "This is the darker side of human nature, the side that you refuse to see that exists, and is so much stronger than the light side. From bullies on the playground to Sebastian Shaw, homo sapiens will always look down on those who are different. You ask why, Charles? Because they are inferior, and they know it. You do too. After this, how can you not?"

And he brushed past his friend, making his way towards the Blackbird, leaving Charles to the large, odd trunk and his own thoughts. He hadn't said that to be cruel, but he knew that Charles needed to hear it, to see it. His hope for peaceful co-habilitation was impossible, and if he didn't see it soon, there's no telling what horrors the future may hold. He did this, not because he was Charles' enemy, but because he was his friend.

Charles sighed as he hoisted up the trunk and jogged after Eric. The German had given him a lot to think about, but this was not the time. There was a tortured, mysterious mutant that was in dire need of medical aid. His ideals and any doubts thereof would have to wait.

First and foremost, came the strange, mystifying child with the initials _HJP_ – if the faded embellishment on the side of the trunk was anything to go by.

No one noticed the lone, green and silver phoenix feather laying in the dust until the wind caught it and bore it aloft, taking it to a safer place… much like its owner.

* * *

><p>Two weeks later, and their mystery mutant showed no signs of wakening. He remained unconscious, sleeping, deep within a magical healing coma that bathed his body in a light golden glow.<p>

Despite their best efforts, no information could be found on their mysterious _HJP_ from Privet Drive.

Eric waited anxiously, watching the young child whom he felt eerily connected to; and his heart grew heavier and heavier with every hour of motionless silence. And he wondered, if the God that his mother used to tell him stories of, really, truly existed – how could He allow this to happen? …Again?

And when Charles could detect not even a flicker of sentient thought, they began to despair.

So they continued with their mission, wandering from state to state, gathering a myriad of mutants to add to their little… collection.

_Angel Salvadore… American… Fly-like Wings…_

_Armando Munoz… Mexican… Adaptation…_

_Alex Summers… American… Level Three Plasma Bolts…_

_Sean Cassidy… Irish… Supersonic Vocal Chords…_

_James Howlett… Canadian… Accelerated Healing – _**DENIED**

Despite the rather… _rude _brush-off from the scruffy man in the bar; Charles and Eric couldn't help but grin in amusement.

"Well, that was the last one of our matured mutants on file… Four excellent prospects – this is shaping up to be quite the exciting, successful enterprise." Charles turned to his friend, eyes alight; completely oblivious to the way Eric's breath hitched.

Eric mentally shook himself from his ridiculously fluffy and enamored thoughts. "Yes, indeed. Keep in mind though, they're young and inexperienced. They'll need training."

"And training they'll get! Ease up Eric, this is exciting! And between you and me, we'll make them one bloody fantastic team." Charles was fairly _bouncing _in his seat; their personal limo en-route to the airport, where they were catching the first flight back to the base.

Suddenly the car phone began ringing. He exchanged a raised eyebrow with Eric, before leaning forward and lifting the receiver to his ear. "Hello, this is Charles Xavier."

"_Charles! Eric! He's waking up!" _Raven's voice was so loud that Eric heard it loud and clear; and Charles held it away from his ear with a wince.

"Raven! Easy, slow down! Now what are you talking about?"

"_It's HIM! Y'know, HJP or whatever! The machines started going all beepy and _whirwhirwhir_ and Hank was __**totally **__panicking, and…"_ There was a brief scuffle, and a "_Give me the phone"… "No! I can explain perfectly fine!"… "Beepy? Whirring? Really? That's the extent of your technical knowledge?"_

Tired of not getting any information, curiosity eating him alive, Charles yelled down the receiver, "RAVEN! GIVE HANK THE PHONE, _NOW!_"

There was a pout, followed by a, _"Hmph, fine, whatever."_

Finally, _"Thank God, Charles. He's waking up. I got some readings from the neural scans, and his heart rate is picking up. The creepy glowing thingy" – "Oh yeah, now __**that's **__technical"… "Shhh!" – "is fading. Slowly, but it's fading. Normally I'd give him another five to six hours before he's fully out of his coma; but given how quickly he's healed everything else, I'd estimate more around three."_

Charles' mouth dropped open and he turned wide-eyed to Eric. "He's awake… he's waking up…" He whispered, too quiet for Hank to hear over the phone.

"_Charles? Charles, did you hear me? Charles!"_

Eric, seeing that his friend was too shocked to answer, took the phone from Charles' nerveless hand and pressed it to his own ear. "Hank? We'll be there in two hours. I want a car waiting for us at the airport; I'll drive." He then hung up, not waiting for a reply.

"Charles? Are you alright?" Eric waved his hand in front of Charles' sightless eyes; slightly startling him.

Charles turned baby blue eyes that were moist with relieved tears to his friend. "Eric… he's waking up…"

Eric smiled, looking out the window towards the airport that they were pulling into. "Yes… finally."

_Maybe there is a God, after all…_

* * *

><p>Emma Frost scanned the ocean's surface one last time before stepping back and shutting the periscope; hands slightly clammy with nervousness. She walked over and leaned over Azazel's shoulder, looking intently at the readings. She gently kissed a red pointed ear and smiled softly as her lover relaxed marginally at the gesture. "There's nothing on radar?"<p>

The crimson demon sighed and shook his head. "No; and before you ask, nothing on sonar either."

"You're sure?" Janos asked, interrupting their conversation. But, rather than be insulted with the small slight against his technical skills; Azazel understood, and merely shook his head the negative. After all, the worry that filled both him and Emma, was apparent in their third lover as well.

Emma braced herself, squaring her shoulders. "Then we have a problem." She didn't need to give voice to the fact that the one they feared most was in the next room.

But before she could inform their 'Master' of this new setback, both Janos and Azazel had grabbed one of her hands each. Azazel bestowed a light kiss on her palm, while Janos gently squeezed her hand in encouragement. Their silent message was clear: _Be careful, we love you._

Emma smiled slightly at the concern. She made a split-second decision, and connected with both their minds. Familiar with her presence, they sighed in relief at the assurance. Now they could mentally be with her as she faced the volatile, powerful, insane mutant in the next chamber.

Emma nodded and let go of their hands, the task of steeling herself infinitely easier with her two lovers' fortifying presences in the back of her mind. Without any hesitation, she strode to the desk and lifted the lid of the container holding the switch; the button to activate the secret chamber. She took one last deep breath, and pressed it; stepping back and hiding her emotions and feelings behind an ice cold mask of indifference and apathy as the door opened and bathed her in glowing blue light.

The sight within terrified her.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The madman, her 'Master', Sebastian Shaw; gazed hungrily upon the nuclear reactor before him, giving off the ethereal cerulean glow. "It's the reason we're here. We're the 'Children of the Atom'."

Emma didn't say anything; knowing that no response was required – and happy for it. His plan still frightened and horrified her in equal measure each time she thought of it; and the knowledge that she was powerless to do anything ate at her.

She decided to give him the bad news right away, sort of like ripping off a bandage. She took strength in her lovers' worry and concern, a tangible and soothing weight upon her tormented mind. "We have a situation… the telepath – I shouldn't be able to sense him at this distance." Despite the brief touch of his mind she'd sensed upon the yacht, a mind infused with good intentions and grand ideas, Emma worried that Charles Xavier would turn out to be no more than another too-powerful megalomaniac in the making. "It's like his reach is… amplified."

She could see the gears churning in Shaw's eyes, and echoed what she could see forming there – without even needing to read his mind. "They're recruiting."

Shaw's face hardened, and Emma (and her mental lovers) braced themselves. "You'll be going to Russia-" They all internally sighed with relief – to Emma, that would be a walk in the park. But the next words sent an ice cold stream of horror to crawl down their spines. "I'll deal with them."

Emma nodded and quickly exited the room, leaving her Master to his sick obsession with the reactor. In her mind, relief at not being punished warred with fear at what Shaw had planned for Lehnsherr and Xavier.

As the door shut behind her, she exchanged worried and apprehensive looks with Azazel and Janos. But none of them could do anything – didn't dare to. And Emma, not for the first time since she'd accepted to join the Hellfire Club… didn't know what to do.

* * *

><p>Harry awoke silently, nary a muscle twitching nor a hitched breath to signify his return to consciousness. He had learned long ago to use this precious time to take stock of his surroundings and any possible threats.<p>

First he mentally examined his body; and was surprised to find himself in relatively good condition. He could feel the bandages wrapped around his chest, wrists, ankles, knees, and eyes; and immediately he knew that he wasn't at the Dursleys. There was an underlying ache that encompassed his whole body; but nothing like the all-consuming agony from… _before._

Harry firmly refused to think about that night.

There was a low murmuring, as though from a far distance; along with a steady beeping something from somewhere to his left. Wherever he was smelled… odd, like mixture of antiseptic and new furniture; but a waft of something that smelled suspiciously like spaghetti drifted through the room. He could sense and hear a person puttering about the room; the occasional sound rattling instruments and off-tune humming signifying another presence in the room checking and watching him.

All in all, Harry had no clue where he was; and that terrified him.

"I know you're awake." A slightly stuttering voice said, breath wavering excitedly. "Y-your heart rate picked up a bit there, a-and your eyes aren't m-moving behind your lids, a s-sure sign that you're out of your REM s-sleep cycle." There was no way that the man could have predicted Harry's reaction to the all-too-familiar stuttering.

In a split second Harry had bolted from the bed and across the room, waving his hand and pinning the man to the wall before flipping the hospital bed and using it as a shield between him and the door. Harry sent out a wave of magic, uncaring if his captors were muggle or wizard – Harry was getting out of there _now_.

His magic rebounded off of his prison, giving him the dimensions and obstacles in the room; much like a sonar worked. Harry sensed that he was in a rectangular room, with only his upturned bed and a couple chairs between him and the partially open door. He tore the needles out of his arm – _Muggles, then? – _before sending out one more cautionary wave of magic; but the results remained the same.

"W-wait, j-just wait… we're here t-to help y-you. W-we sa-" But Harry was in no mood to listen, so with a wordless _Silencio _sent at the trapped human on the wall; Harry was off, running full pelt out of the room.

Keeping up steady pulses of magic, Harry ran from corridor to corridor, desperately trying to escape the metal enclosure.

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry finally reached a door, a bolt of magic telling him that there was only one room between him and the blessed outdoors.

One room, with five occupants. Three boys, two girls from what he could tell.

So far Harry had encountered no opposition, and that fact both relieved him and set off warning alarms in his head.

Harry put his ear to the door, trying to determine if they were a danger or not. He strained to hear their conversations through the cool metal.

"… _C'mon Alex, you can do it! Alex Alex Alex ALEX! Whoo-hoo-hoo! Yeah, that's the spirit!..."_

"_Fine. Just, get down when I tell you to."_

Harry sensed as one of the boys stood up and walked… through a window? No, it was broken, he just walked through the empty hole in the wall. Harry wondered what they were doing as the other two boys and girls crowded around the hole to watch whatever this Muggle… _Alex?…_ was doing.

"_Get back! Get BACK! Oh, whatever…"_

But it mattered little. Right now, all that mattered was that all of the occupants of the room now had their backs to the door; and subsequently, to him. It would take very little effort to take them all out.

Decision made, Harry opened the door and stepped leapt through, just in time for his magic to sense the flash of red light that decimated the statue in the courtyard.

Harry faltered, before flying into action.

His slight, momentary hesitation allowed him to reevaluate the situation before acting accordingly.

_Red light = Cutting Curse._

_Cutting Curse = Wizard._

_Wizard = Danger._

_New Objective: Escape while taking out as many as possible. If necessary, lethal force permitted._

It didn't matter if the wizard was Light or Dark. Harry'd had too much experience with wizards hell-bent on hurting him, with only the barest few the exception. He wasn't going to stick around and see into which of the two categories this newest wizard fell into.

A lightning-quick, silent _Stupify _hit the tall boy holding a soda bottle, and he dropped to the floor with a muffled _thump_ as the glass bottle clattered and rolled, spilling the rest of the contents. As one of the girls yelled and the rest whirled around, Harry flicked his wrist and pinned the other girl to the wall; in the same manner as the stuttering fool still in the medical bay.

But before he could do anything else, the other three's reflexes finally kicked in as they dove behind furniture and attacked.

Harry momentarily faltered as the final girl grew wings – _wings! – _and took to the air. Harry quickly leapt to the side and cursed himself as his momentary lapse as he was nearly caught by a gust of displaced air.

Wait… no, that's not what it was… Harry quickly examined the high-pitched blasts with his magic as he dodged the Conjured balls of fire from the flying girl. What he discovered horrified him.

The boy was casting a curse that concentrated sonic waves to such a degree that, if it struck him, could and would burst his eardrums – and possibly his brain.

Harry, acting with a speed and power that was almost instinctual, grabbed a couch, Transfigured it into a metal, satellite-shaped concave, leapt into the path of the sonic Curse, and caught it with the steel bowl.

The effects were immediate. The satellite dish caught and amplified the Curse, before reflecting it and dispersing it back from where it came. The blast of the Curse managed to not only send the boy smashing into the wall; but also caught the flying girl – _maybe she had a creature inheritance? – _and sent her crashing to earth, screaming. Her head clanged against the metal torso of the fallen statue, cutting off her screams as she moved no more.

Harry shook from behind the safety of the metal disk, breathing harshly into the relative silence. He sent out another, particularly strong pulse of magic to feel out the status of the downed wizards around him. All four were either unconscious or bound, and all relatively unharmed.

Wait, all _four_…?

Harry gasped before dropping to the ground; and not a moment too soon. Another pulsing red Curse shot over his head, singing the tips of his hair, before tearing through the wall behind where he'd been standing.

He'd forgotten about the third boy still in the courtyard, the one who'd cast the first Cutting Curse.

_You're getting sloppy, Harry…_

Harry, making another split-second decision that had saved his life more than once, leapt out from cover, dodging beams of uncontrolled and haphazard red light, and grabbed onto the leg of the unconscious boy with the penchant for Sonic Curses (_was there such a thing_?).

Then he Apparated.

* * *

><p>Eric and Charles ran down the corridor, heading towards the faint sounds of combat that Charles sensed the second they stepped off the private jet.<p>

Suddenly, Moira was running alongside them, speaking about something that seemed oh-so-important mere days ago; and now felt wholly insignificant now; "We've tracked down Shaw's movements. He's meeting with the Russian Defense Chief in Moscow. The plane for Russia leaves in an hour. We need-"

"Yes yes, whatever, _not now _Moira!" Oblivious to the indignant huff from behind them, Eric and Charles never slowed their pace; not even when they came around to corner and were met with the sight of a decimated courtyard and statue, with a prone Angel lying in the grass and Alex standing over her protectively.

Before they could take in anything else, however, there was a muffled _POP_, and two bodies appeared directly over the blond boy, seeming to float for a moment before gravity took over and they both landed on Alex – painfully.

Their boy – their mysterious, battered, _broken_ HJP – merely tucked and rolled with the fall, shooting up to his feet and into a ready battle-stance that was all-too familiar to the war-hardened Eric. The sight of the boy, who couldn't have been more than thirteen, caused something within that Eric had long since thought dead in his chest to clench painfully.

But, even though he was nearly covered from head to toe in crisp white bandages, literally, the raven-haired child looked _anything _but broken. An observation that was clearly reinforced when Alex groaned under his friend's dead weight – _the red hair gave the body away as Sean's – _and HJP whirled around and sent a bolt of red light at the fallen blond, rendering him immediately unconscious.

But, if one were looking, (and Charles and Eric most certainly were) you could tell that he was physically and mentally exhausted; from the slightly labored breaths and the telling trembling of his limbs.

Both men were abruptly torn from their examinations as Moira – who'd they'd complete forgotten – exclaimed from beside them, _"WHAT THE HELL?"_

Charles could have gladly strangled the woman when the child whirled around in shock and fear. He could clearly see the emotions play across the remarkably open face; and as such, saw the exact moment that their boy realized that he didn't have the energy to fight anymore.

Which meant, it was time to escape.

With a wave of his hand and a yelled phrase that sounded something like, "_Wyngardeeum Levyosa"_ the decimated statue in the courtyard began to float over towards one of the walls. Then, with a complicated motion of his fingers, the metal began rippling and changing; before, in the time between one blink and the next, a tall metal ladder sat propped against the building, reaching all the way to the top.

It was apparent that the boy was going to escape using the roofs. Eric couldn't help but be grudgingly impressed.

In the time it took them to recover from their shock, the boy was already half-way up the ladder. And, in an abrupt moment of clarity, Charles knew that, if he didn't stop the boy _right now_, they'd never see him again.

"_STOP!"_

* * *

><p>Harry, as weak and exhausted as he was, hadn't thought to reinforce his natural mental barriers.<p>

So, as the loud, echoing, authoritative voice ripped through the air and his mind; Harry let forth a startled cry of agony and arched his back against the intrusion.

Unfortunately, this caused his sweat-slicked hands to slip from their hold on the smooth metal rungs; and before he knew it he was falling down down down…

Then a thump, a muffled curse, all-too-familiar pain, and oh-so-welcome, blessed black met him.

* * *

><p>As soon as the body hit the ground, Charles realized that he'd unintentionally, in his panic, let his mental barriers down.<p>

With that knowledge, Charles let forth another long list of cuss words even worse than the ones uttered upon this same boy's discovery.

He blushed under, but otherwise ignored Eric's incredulous and admonishing raised eyebrow; choosing instead to examine the, once again, unconscious body of HJP below him.

Suddenly, there was a muffled _thump_ and a yelp of shock and pain, as the magic pinning Raven to the wall vanished; sending the girl crashing to the ground, only to land – _as determined by the muffled, decidedly masculine groan – _upon the also unconscious body of Darwin; who'd been downed first before he even knew what was happening.

Suddenly there was a voice yelling in his ear through the com-piece, as the magic silencing Hank's voice _also _vanished, leaving him free to yell the same phrase he'd been screaming for the last ten minutes, "_HE'S AWAKE! HE'S AWAKE! HE WOKE UP AND IS LOOSE IN THE COMPOUND!"_

Both Eric and Charles both yelped before yanking the chips out of their ears before they were permanently deafened.

"No shit, Sherlock." Eric growled, and Charles snorted.


	4. Freak: Discoveries and Allies

"Got intel that Shaw is meeting with the Russian Defense Chief in Moscow." CIA Director McCone sighed as he collapsed onto his chair in the conference room, tossing the folder with the damning information onto the table before him. "Go ahead, say it."

And McCone bristled inside when MacTaggert smirked smugly and nodded. "I'll take a rain check on that, but that's not why I'm currently here. You know what I want."

McCone scowled inwardly as he nearly growled out, "Yeah yeah yeah. Clearance to bring along your mutants, fight fire with fire." And as much as he didn't want it to be true, it did, "Makes sense."

"Wait, you're okay with this? Sending in a bunch of untrained, unauthorized freaks?" McCone nearly winced at his colleague's harsh words; but partially understood where he was coming from. McCone himself had never been a big fan of the Evolution movement, but if it was true, and the human race was evolving; didn't it stand to reason that they, like the Neanderthals before them, were next to be extinguished? And here they were, inviting them into their military, putting the safety of their _nation _in their hands… and it was the best – the _only – _option that they had.

McCone felt that William Stryker had every right to be upset and appalled – although he didn't think such insulting terms were necessary; McCone after all knew, at least in part, from where Erik Lensherr came from, and didn't think that the man would appreciate the term '_freak'_ all that much.

Thankfully, the overweight fellow whose name _still _slipped McCone's mind spoke up – as McCone didn't want to alienate William by reprimanding him (especially when he partially agreed), but didn't want to make enemies of Moira or the Mutants by _not _reprimanding him. Oh the complications of politics… - with a remarkably sharp tone. "Those 'freaks' are dedicated, hardworking, _people_."

_But were they really?_ McCone couldn't help but wonder as Moira ran out the door after the sprinting forms of Charles Xavier and Erik Lensherr.

And as the sound of muffled explosions and bursts of light echoed from the courtyard, McCone couldn't find an answer.

* * *

><p>Erik sat pensively as he watched the (again) unconscious form of their (still) mysterious HJP. True, they had more answers about him then they'd had before; but they were answers to questions that they hadn't even asked yet, or considered asking, and only served to surface even more.<p>

He was so young, yet he obviously was used to combat – or at the very least, used to being hunted. But by whom? And why?

He had displayed abilities ranging from telekinesis to teleportation to echolocation (as he'd figured out from viewing the security footage). Were these each individual powers? Or were they part of another ability that Erik hadn't grasped yet? His mind wandered back to that paper, and the little infinity signs underneath the 'power' column, but he quickly discarded that idea. No one could be that powerful… the very idea sent shivers down even _his _back.

He had an extremely high threshold for pain, as well as incredible healing abilities; as evidenced by the numerous reopened and bleeding wounds when they'd changed the bandages after Charles' accidental mind-knockout, as well as the fact that, according to Hank, instead of sleeping for a week after such a tiring battle like he _should _have, the boy was well on his way to wakefulness only hours later. Who trained him to endure pain, or to unconsciously heal himself? Erik had a suspicion that it was only in part the fault of the mysterious '_'Ncle V'non_'.

And then add to that the fact that he appeared from nowhere, in a place that only halfway existed, and was impervious to Charles' attempts to read his mind – and HJP was the most curious, fascinating, incredible, possibly terrifying thing Erik had ever seen.

And then said boy groaned, stiffened, and awoke. Damn, Charles had hoped to be back from his mission to extract Shaw before the boy regained consciousness… his friend would _not _be happy.

* * *

><p>Charles scowled when the faint mental tag he'd put on HJP alerted him that the boy had awoken. Damn, couldn't the child do <em>anything <em>normally? He shouldn't have stirred for a week! Much less regaining full consciousness!

Charles had to admit, though, as inconvenient and unfortunate as HJP's desperate escape attempt, it had served one good purpose – proving that the rest of the young adults were in no way prepared to face Shaw and Co. Maybe with a little bit of training (okay, a _lot _of training), but the speed and effectiveness with which HJP had dispatched with all of them was almost laughable – and incredibly worrisome. It hadn't really sunk in – at least, not entirely – that this was all incredibly real.

Real enough that any one of them could _die_.

And Charles didn't want that. God, that was the absolute _last _thing that he wanted. So he knew that, as soon as he returned from this hopefully-successful mission to apprehend and capture Shaw, he would be taking them all to the Xavier Mansion for some much-needed training and honing. Even if Charles' mission was successful, and they had no need to fight.

They still needed the control, but Charles would be thrilled if they didn't have to fight a war to get it.

Although Charles couldn't suppress his smirk when he remembered Raven's incoherent babblings regarding their 'codenames' – courtesy of the rather nasty concussion she received upon collision with the wall when HJP slammed her there with his telekinesis (or whatever it was). She mumbled something about "_Darwin being Darwin_" and "_Alex is Angel… no Angel is Angel and Angel is Havok… and, and Sean is 'wailing spirit' erm… bansh_eeeeeeeee_ Hank is really pretty an' I'm Mystique, not Bansh-erm-Sean-erm-really pretty red-haired boy and…_" and she'd continued to ramble until they gave her a mild sedative. However, it was the last thing she mumbled before she'd slipped into unconsciousness that made Charles burst out into loud laughter and Erik to smirk in that rather debonair, fetching way of his (where the heck did _that _come from?).

Anyway, she'd mumbled that he was _"P'r'fess'r Exssss' _and Erik was _'Magnet… Magnetto… MagnEEtoooo… pretty…'_ and then she'd started snoring, which sent Charles to laughing again until he noticed Erik staring at him in that strange, too-intense way that caused Charles to inexplicably flush and stammer and his stomach to knot; before he immediately fled (erm, retreated).

Even now he had to force himself not to snicker; but as he was surrounded by tense troops in the back of an undercover vehicle in Moscow, he thought that it wouldn't be the most well-received.

There was a sharp knock against the wood from the cap, and Charles quickly lifted the wooden divider. He was met with the driver's (Borus Reichen) and Moira's tense and panicked faces.

"I'm so sorry, this wasn't on the map!" She yelped over the noise of the truck, and Charles peered between them and out the front window to find the security checkpoint – the security checkpoint that had been in the intel folder that they'd all received.

"Of course it wasn't! It was in the folder that the Director gave each of us – you know, the one that we were ordered to read on the way over? There was an alternate route that some of the CIA's top spies had risked their lives and covers for in order to get us through – and now we're not even going to show up! How could you not have read the information?" Charles couldn't help but snap, getting frustrated with Moira's increasingly smug and thoughtless attitude. This wasn't just spying and stakeouts anymore, this was life-or-death situations with the fate of (what Charles felt) the nation in the balance.

And honestly, the attraction and lust that she was practically radiating towards both him and Erik in turn was particularly irritating – though Charles couldn't figure out why it made him even more furious when she was lusting after Erik than after him (as he was in no way attracted to or possessive of her).

Charles caught sight of Moira's embarrassed and stricken face before sighing in exasperation, "Just forget it, and act normally. I'll take care of this." And he quickly shut the divider before she could say anything in return.

He quickly turned and faced the concerned, firm, angry faces of the troops seated on either side of him, all of them having heard the conversation. Charles took a deep breath and steeled himself – these men's lives were now in his hands. "Alright, listen to me, this is what's going to happen. When they open the back of the truck – which they will – I'll quickly slip into his mind and plant a running illusion of the back of an empty truck. We should pass through with no problems. However, if they bring a dog around you'll have to attack, as I cannot control animals. After that, if you can just get me into a position in which I can see all of the enemy and establish a connection, I can take control of them. Does anyone have any objections or comments that they'd wish to make?"

All them men (oh, and on woman) exchanged glances before shaking their heads negative; right before the truck squealed to a stop and they heard the crunch of gravel as the surrounding soldiers moved closer or shifted. Everyone tensed when they heard a couple dogs whining and sniffing.

"Where are you going?" Charles easily slipped into Boris' mind, which allowed him to roughly translate what the Russian guard was saying into English (or at least the basic meaning).

"To our farm." Boris replied, and Charles gently toned down the panic and alarm bells blaring in the man's mind.

Charles flinched slightly when a German Shepherd hopped it's front legs onto the side of the car and barked once. And all of the men tensed as tightly as a coiled spring when the Russian said, "Open the back."

Charles again calmed Boris enough that he could say, "As you wish," without stuttering. Charles only had a moment to hope that Moira didn't give anything away on her face (honestly, the woman was a _terrible _actress), before both men had circled around to the back and were now fiddling with the lever on the door.

The soldiers stirred, nearly on the breaking point, but Charles quickly stood up and closer to the door, allowing himself to send out a wave of calm that wouldn't effect their senses or reflexes. "Easy. Easy, take it easy chaps."

And then, on squeaky hinges, the door was flung open… but there was no reaction. Charles grit his teeth and poured all of his concentration into the illusion, while both Boris and the Russian guard stared into the back (Boris in confusion, the guard in boredom).

Charles felt the man next to him let out a shaky breath, before a voice yelled over, "Anything back there?"

"Nothing. It's empty." The guard replied, although he still continued to stare. Charles felt a brief suspicion rise up in the man's mind (_'If he's going to his farm, where are his supplies, his produce or wares?'_) before he ruthlessly squashed it down.

"Everything okay?" Boris asked, nearly nonchalantly; the missing lines of tension in his brow signifying that a great weight of worry had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Yes." The guard answered, and it was to the American's relief when Boris shut the doors and locked them again. The men all relaxed and the one next to Charles (who had let out the relieved breath) clapped him quietly on the shoulder in a combination of thanks and camaraderie.

Charles almost felt his faith in mankind return, until he saw and felt the wary, mistrustful, and frightened glances and thoughts from the other men (and woman); and he closed his eyes in despair.

Had Erik truly been right, all this time?

* * *

><p>"Calm down child, you're safe." Erik gently touched the boy's hand, before allowing his fingers to skim up the boy's arm and shoulder, until they wandered along the side of his face and gently carded through the untamable ebony locks; doing so to let the boy know of his every movement, so that he didn't panic when a hand came out of nowhere to touch his vulnerable face.<p>

Even so, the boy flinched; but he didn't react violently, and only remained tense for another three minutes before relaxing – tentatively – into the gentle touch.

Erik believed that he knew – at least partially – what the child was going through. He, himself, had been in such a position once; distrustful of touch and companionship and _humans_. Even now, he was just coming out of it (if for no other reason than to pursue Charles' touch…). But Erik felt that, for some reason, what this child had gone through was so much worse in ways than his own life. And that was a terrifying, horrifying thought.

"My name is Erik Lehnsherr. I am a mutant, which is a human whose evolutionary makeup has advanced to the next stage: a _Homo Novus, _or _Homo Superior, _if you will. I have the ability to manipulate metal and magnetic fields to a certain extent. I am a Jew, and managed to survive the Concentration Camps. I'm fond of spaghetti and French wine; and secretly enjoy drawing and sketching panda bears and dragons. But don't tell anyone."

Erik was rewarded with a huffing snort of laughter from the child, and grinned in response (even if he couldn't see it).

"So now, your turn. What's your name? Your power?"

HJP frowned slightly and seemed to be thinking, before something seemed to give inside of him for he sighed – almost as if in surrender. And Erik had a feeling it was a surrender of the ability to continue fighting; a surrender into the hope of having someone to care for him, to protect him. "My name is Harry James Potter, although I would like to go by the name of, erm… Jamie. Jamie Hadrian Evans. I hate cats – they are evil, sadistic animals who only are waiting for you to _die _so they can eat you; and I will eat anything that I deserve to have, though I'm super fond of treacle tart." Erik frowned at the 'deserve to have' comment… had this boy also been starved? Erik had just thought him small for his age (whichever age that was). "I don't really know what my, erm, _mutant _power is, but I know that I'm…"

Here, the boy took a deep breath and seemed to be steeling himself for something (pain, perhaps) even while he trembled. "And I'm… I'm a Wiz- I'm a Wizard."

Erik and Harry – erm, _Jamie – _both tensed at the same time. But all Erik could think was, '_Oh Charles will be __**so **__upset when he hears that he missed this…_'

* * *

><p>Charles looked through his binoculars, side by side with Moira and Boris in the damp, mossy earth; and watched the helicopter land on the grass in front of the Russian Defense Base.<p>

And he watched with growing dread as a lady in white – Ms. Emma Frost – and _only _a lady in white exited the helicopter and started walking towards the building while the aircraft flew away.

Boris leaned over, being sure to keep his head out of sight, and whispered, "Where's Shaw?"

Charles shook his head, his face scrunched up in worry. "I dunno. But she's a telepath and if I scan her she'll know I'm here." He thought for a moment before an idea came to him. "Let me try something else…"

Pressing his finger to his head he concentrated, sending his consciousness across the field and into the mind of one of the guards stationed to the left of the door. Slipping in to the weak mind with relative ease, he watched aptly as the General strode forward to welcome Ms. Frost. Using a combination of psychic enhancing and lip-reading, Charles was able to make out their words.

"_Shaw sends his apologies but he's indisposed. He sent me to come in his place. And between you and I honey, I'm a __**lot **__better company." _Was it just Charles, or did she emphasize that a bit too much, and was that a flash of fear and revulsion directed at Shaw or the now obviously lusting General?

"_Please, come in." _The General replied in lust- and Russian-heavy English, his hand slipping around Ms. Frost's shoulders as he lead her inside.

Having got all the information that he currently could, Charles quickly returned to his own mind; leaving the guard blinking in confusion before quickly standing to attention.

"He's not coming." Charles growled, unsure of what to do. Incredibly enough, he started thinking in terms of his friend – what would Erik do in this situation?

"What now boss?" Charles heard Boris ask Moira as he mused to himself.

"Now nothing. We were here for Shaw, we should abort it." Surprisingly (or not so much) Charles was unsatisfied with Moira's solution. So many people risked their lives for this chance (and almost lost them, thanks to her), and Charles wasn't going to let this pass them by.

"Bullshit." A voice in his head that sounded a lot like Erik remarked sardonically that he'd never cussed so much before he met Erik; and that obviously Erik was rubbing off on him. Surprisingly, Charles was perfectly fine with that, before quickly shutting down both voice was strange, traitorous thoughts. "She's his right hand woman. That's good enough for me. I can get the information we need from her."

Moira held him back and snapped, "The CIA invading the home of a senior Soviet official? Are you crazy?"

"It's what we were going to do anyways, had Shaw been here. At least this way, I can get in and out with no one the wiser." And then that Erik-voice took over and Charles smirked wickedly, "Besides, I'm not CIA." And he leapt to his feet and started running for the entrance.

He briefly heard Boris whisper, "Good luck Xavier," and Moira's hissed, "Shut up!" before he was out of hearing range.

* * *

><p>Emma clinked her glass in a toast with the General, outwardly all coy smiles while inside she was screaming in fear and helplessness.<p>

She wanted nothing more than to tell the General not to agree to Shaw, to put a stop to her Master's insane and terrifying plot. But Azazel and Janos were with Shaw, and she knew that if she failed this mission, her lovers' lives would be forfeit. And for all their combined powers, she knew that Shaw – whatever the hell he was – could kill them instantly.

So Emma smiled, and acted, and desperately cried out for a solution, for a savior; although she was sure that no one would hear her cry.

"Your health." General Sherbedgia toasted in Russian (Emma unknowingly using the same method as Xavier to translate the language and general gist/meaning), before downing the shot of vodka all at once. Emma closely followed suit (after having scanned the General to make sure there was no poison).

After setting her glass down Emma crossed her legs and lifted a tempting eyebrow as she lowered her voice a notch; feeling disgusted with herself and wishing it were her lovers she were trying to seduce. "So you must be busy planning your next move, what with the Americans refusing to remove their missiles from Turkey."

The General half-smiled and adopted a patronizing tone, as though she was just a bimbo who truly didn't understand what was going on around her and the intricacies of war, "You know that I cannot talk about those things with you, Ms. Frost."

And Emma was only too pleased to allow an illusion to slip into the man's mind, only too pleased to have those lusting eyes fixed upon the false image rather than herself. "Emma," the illusion corrected as it stood and smiled, before beginning to unbuckle her revealing jacket, "and don't worry, you don't have to say a word." And it began to unzip the front of the dress/jacket, revealing only lacy white underneath.

And the real Emma turned away and helped herself to some more vodka as the General sat back to enjoy the show.

* * *

><p>"A Wizard? Really? Like, 'abracadabra' and 'hocus pocus'?" Erik questioned, not even trying to hide his sincerity or excitement. After all, he needed Jamie to believe that he was sincere, and he wouldn't achieve that goal if the child suspected that he was hiding or masking his emotions in any way.<p>

And Erik's knowledge was rewarded when Jamie relaxed with a soft sigh before leaning into the now-frozen hand in his hair, prompting Erik to continue his soothing petting.

"No, nothing like that really. Those are only illusions and clever tricks. Being a true Witch or Wizard is significantly more than that. There's a whole world of us, hidden right beneath your very noses. A whole culture, with it's fair share of prejudices. Every magical child has bursts of uncontrolled power – called accidental magic – up until eleven, when they're accepted into a magical school. I only know of three, though there's probably many more; Hogwarts in Scotland, Beauxbatons in France, and Durmstrang in Bulgaria. You go to school for seven years before graduating and choosing a career – like Curse Breaking in Egypt or Dragon Taming at the Welsh Dragon Reserve. Then there's Divination, a job at the Ministry of Magic, an Auror – sort of like the wizarding police – even a professor or Master of Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, or Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"But it's not all sunshine and magic." Jamie growled, and Erik felt some of his excitement fade from him in worry. "There's a Dark Lord out for my blood, as well as his whole fucking army. Then there's the quote 'Light Side' who is more than willing to throw me in front of the murdering masses as a scapegoat/sacrificial lamb to slaughter. There're monsters that are the most decent beings you'll ever meet while the 'normal humans' – who are the real monsters! – walk all over them and everyone else.

"Where you're worshipped and persecuted and tortured equally in turn, while all those you thought you trusted the most stab you in the back time and time again; testing and risking your life while your at school only to send you back to your relatives with specific instructions to increase their methods in order to keep you submissive when a regular beating is enough to keep you writhing in agony for _days _from the _**pain!**_ Oh Merlin… so much _**pain…**_"

And as Jamie collapsed into helpless, desperate sobs and Erik gathered the child into his arms and rocked him gently; Erik couldn't help but be glad that Charles wasn't here for this. The pain and agony in the child was practically rolling off him in _waves_, to the point where Erik could almost see every physical and emotional wound – and he wasn't even the telepath.

And somehow, Erik _knew_, that it was only the tip of the iceberg.

* * *

><p>Charles ran as fast as he could, psychic mind thrown out wide enough to encompass every guard on the grass as well as by the doors. Slipping in effortlessly, Charles flitted across their vision without them ever knowing; the ongoing illusion that all was peaceful and undisturbed solid in their minds.<p>

Then Charles was inside the building, releasing those behind him from his mind as he captured those before him and sent them back to their posts without a single suspicion marring their thoughts.

It was easy, but Charles didn't allow himself to grow complacent. He knew that his _true _battle would be in the next room, between himself and the telepath known as Emma Frost.

* * *

><p>Emma felt herself growing increasingly sick with every pleasured groan and lewd word that General Rade Sherbedgia said to her illusion.<p>

"Pathetic." She sneered, taking a bite of a cracker to quell her rising nausea; even while she wasn't sure if she was talking about the General, or herself and her powerlessness.

Lost in her thoughts and illusions as she was, she yelped and jumped when the door burst open, revealing the flushed face of one Charles Xavier.

Immediately her illusion fell, and the General spent several confused moments taking in the sight of his empty lap, the object of his lust sitting shocked still on the sofa, and one panting American standing in the doorway.

"Nice trick." Charles praised, right before the General pulled out his musket and yelled, "Who are you?"

Charles, thinking more and more like Erik and not having any patience for the weak human General, merely rolled his eyes and ordered, "_Go to sleep."_

The General collapsed onto his bedcovers as Emma stood up, slipping her jacket/dress on and buckling it up, feeling strangely ashamed and vulnerable before the other telepath.

Hating the feeling, she quickly turned her body to impenetrable diamond; needing the security of her lovers' arms and going for the next best thing in the absence of.

"Don't even both trying to read my mind, sugar. You can't get anything from me while I'm like this." But, strangely enough, Xavier wasn't even trying. He was just staring at her with those penetrating turquoise-blue eyes; almost as though he could see _deep _inside of her, to everything she kept hidden.

"No." Xavier finally spoke, focusing his eyes on her face rather than _in _her, and she relaxed when the intrusive feeling faded; even if she knew that he couldn't have read her mind. "You're right. I cannot. There's no point in me trying to apprehend you, either, as from what Erik has told me you're extremely strong in that form. However, I can allow you to read my mind, and decide what you _really _want from this war."

And Emma, being the curious, slightly invasive telepath that she was, couldn't resist the temptation of Xavier's lowered barriers, and slipped right in.

She saw _everything_. She saw Charles' beliefs, his hopes and passion and eloquence. She saw the flirting, the brilliance, the hangovers. She saw the hints of the burgeoning attraction to Lehnsherr, and she saw the slight shift in Xavier's worldview upon the arrival of the mysterious _HJP_.

But most of all, she saw Xavier's blossoming team, their friendship and camaraderie, as well as their almost _desperate _and _powerful _desire to win, to prevail.

And she knew, then, that they were so much more powerful than Sebastian Shaw. She saw that they would have no problem taking out her Master; and the hope nearly strangled her it was so potent.

She slipped out of Xavier's mind, turning back to human flesh and blood in the same moment. She felt wetness on her cheeks and felt them, only to pull back and find the traces of tears on her fingertips.

"My lovers," she whispered, longing and hope and desperation and pleading shining through her ice-blue eyes, "please, help them. They want out too… but we can't break free unless you offer us protection. Please."

"Agreed," Xavier nodded, and Emma sighed in relief. She knew that he could be just like any other man, one of thousands who had betrayed her. But she felt the need to trust him, trust him like she would trust Janos and Azazel; and the only reason she gave in was because there was no one else _to _trust.

So she lowered her barriers, and let him in.

* * *

><p>Erik walked with Jamie towards the main common room, where everyone was hanging out and recovering from the almost one-sided fight a couple hours ago; his hand resting comfortably on the technically blind boy's shoulder – though more for comfort than necessity.<p>

Erik had, as a last minute decision, decided to gather up all of the young people and have them tell their life stories – or as much as they were comfortable with. It would help them understand eachother, as well as build a sense of team unity and companionship – which is precisely what Jamie would need for the team to accept him into their ranks after being so thoroughly thrashed earlier.

Of course, he'd discussed with Jamie the necessity that the team all get along and why it was so important. Instantly drawing the similarities between Sebastian Shaw and Voldemort and Dumbledore (both were equally evil in his eyes and sought to completely obliterate the other side), Jamie's Gryffindor side gave one last desperate fight and convinced Jamie to join them and help out; even as his Slytherin side completely obliterated the Gryffindor.

It was during this discussion that Jamie realized that they were talking about the Cold War, and immediately remembered Erik's comment about surviving the concentration camps. After frantically asking what year it was, and being informed that it was 1962, Jamie had experienced a brief panic attack when he realized that he was over thirty years in the past. After Erik had helped him regain control of himself and he explained when he came from; Jamie felt an abrupt sense of peace and relief. In this time, he didn't yet exist. In this time, Dumbledore wouldn't be hunting for him.

He was _free_.

Jamie had wept in relief.

It was actually this reaction that Erik's confusion over the reason for it that led to Erik's decision to do this team building exercise/past share-all.

Hence the reason that they were now stepping into the common room, to the immediate silence and shock of all in attendance (even Raven and Angel, who had both awoken from their concussions and were nursing bags of ice to their heads – thank God for mutant accelerating healing).

As the silence continued on and became more and more oppressive, Jamie seemed to shrink further and further into himself; becoming even smaller, if that was possible.

Until, finally, "Hi, 'm Jamie," he whispered shyly, flattening his untamable fringe down over his forehead in a nervous gesture (for some odd reason), "an' 'm real sorry."

Erik observed as Angel, Raven, and (oddly enough) Alex immediately melted; even as Darwin, Sean, and Hank stiffened up, winced, or frowned severely. Before anyone could say anything or comment, however, Erik raised his hand for (continued) silence.

"If everyone will take a seat, Jamie will explain everything, as will yourselves." And as Erik took in the sight of their confused expressions as they all dutifully sat down, he took a deep breath. He knew that he was in for quite the battle.

* * *

><p>Images and scenes flashed through Charles' mind, one after another, the overall picture that they were forming becoming more and more horrible and sinister than he had ever imagined.<p>

Forget the nation being in the balance, this was about the whole _world_.

_A map with missiles in Cuba…_

_A simulation of America's nuclear retaliation, resulting in return fire and a massive nuclear war between America and the Soviet Union…_

_Horrible mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud, obliterating millions of people…_

"_We are the Children of the Atom. Radiation gave birth to humans. What will kill the humans, will only make us stronger…"_

_Shaw's voice echoes through a vision of the future, a vision of Shaw standing over a burning city with a black sky, a world filled with only mutants and the decimated, obliterated, still-burning image of the White House in the background…_

Charles had never felt more sickened or horrified; and one look into Emma's tearful gaze was enough to know that she felt the same.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" She whispered, voice choked and desperate and filled with fear.

Charles nodded, "Yes… it's far worse than we'd ever previously imagined. But we'll stop him, and that's a promise. Come with me, the official story will be that the CIA is questioning you." Charles smirked. "Of course, reports will say that you remain resistant to interrogation, thus keeping your lovers safe until we can get them out too."

Emma breathed a shaky sigh of relief and seemed to slump into herself. "Oh thank you, thank you so much…"

Charles put a gentle hand on Emma's shoulder and gave her a comforting half-squeeze, before thinking of something that caused him to frown slightly.

"By the way, where _is _Shaw and your two lovers? Do you know?"

And Charles was wholly unprepared for Emma's head to shoot up in horror and a terrible, awful image to assault his mind as she remembered.

"Oh no…" They both whispered, and Charles sent up a brief prayer that Erik would be able to protect the children and keep his head when faced with his worst enemy.

Because Sebastian Shaw was paying a house call.

His destination: CIA Headquarters; Mutant Division.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: Hope that you all enjoyed the chapter! It was a lot of fun to write, and I'm glad the my plot-werewolf came out yesterday to bite me and inject me with good ideas and fast typing speed.**_

_**Tell me what you think and how much you love it (yes, I know that I'm a shameless review-whore). But you all love me anyways! ;D**_


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